


Scars

by xfandomwritingsx



Series: To Kirkwall [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: (mostly), F/M, Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-12-01 19:14:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20871344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xfandomwritingsx/pseuds/xfandomwritingsx
Summary: 5 times Hawke's clothes came off.(A prequel of sorts to Reuniting. Not necessary to read Reuniting to read this.)





	Scars

**Author's Note:**

> Told you I wasn't done with these two. I had this idea floating around for a little while. Hope you enjoy!

1.  
The first time Hawke stripped out of her clothes in front of him was down in the Deep Roads. It had been at least a week since Bartrand had trapped them down there and they’d wandered into a heat pocket. The sweltering heat slowed their pace even more than the quickly growing hunger did. Carver looked the worst of them all, but the rest of them weren’t fairing much better. 

They’d stopped traveling to take a break, the entire group’s energy level draining. Isabela leaned down to Carver as he sat and propped himself against a stone, trying to get him to drink a little more water. Varric watched as they argued about it quietly and wiped his sleeve along his forehead.

Hawke stood off to the side of him. He watched her slip her staff off of her back and set it on the ground. Her long, black hair was tied up messily on top of her head with one of his spare hair bands he’d given her when she’d lost hers over the edge of a bridge. He caught himself staring blankly at her, dehydration making his vision a little fuzzy and tired.

His vision cleared again when he noticed her unbuttoning her robe.

“Uhh, Hawke?” he called out curiously as he approached her. “You okay?” She had an angry, frustrated look painted on her face. She ignored him completely as she opened the robe down to her waist and shrugged it off her shoulders.

“It’s way too hot for this,” she told him bitterly. She tied the sleeves around her waist, effectively making her robe a bulky skirt and leaving her top in only her breast binding. The relief was minimal, but she sighed happily anyways.

“Is that the best idea?” It wasn’t that he had a problem with her lack of clothing. He wasn’t a man to blush at a little pale flesh presented in front of him, but he did worry it wasn’t the best choice for their situation. “There’s still a whole lot of darkspawn roaming around down here.” She shot a sideways glance at him.

“A lecture about armor?” she snapped at him a little rougher than she meant. “Coming from the man who leaves nothing but skin and chest hair between a blade and his heart?” He chuckled at her and nodded.

“Point taken.” A small smile tempted her face and her irritation seemed to fade.

“Although, it’d probably be best if you watched my back instead of Isabela for now.” She threw a look over her shoulder at her and Carver before looking at Varric again. “I don’t think I can handle her staring and making comments about my rippling back muscles.”

“So, I shouldn’t stand behind you and narrate every graceful movement?” he teased. Her laugh may have been dry, but it was good to hear nonetheless. She leaned down to pick up her staff, turning just enough for him to see the small, deep gash on the back of her shoulder. “You should clean that,” he mentioned. She didn’t even look up.

“With what? The little drinking water we have?” She shrugged before standing back up. “I brush the dirt off it once in a while and that’s about as good as it’ll get for now.” He twisted her neck in an attempt to look at it before conceding she couldn’t bend that way. “Scars are sexy anyways, right?”

“Well I was more worried about impending death due to infection, but I see where your concerns lie.” They smiled at each other and Hawke threw a friendly wink in his direction before walking towards her brother to aid Isabela’s cause to hydrate him.

2.  
“I do believe you owe me an article of clothing,” Isabela gloated, laying her cards down on the table. She had been cheating, which Varric suspected she did at least ninety percent of the time, but this time he actually saw the cards hidden in her bodice. He kept his mouth shut though. He wasn’t actually partaking in the festivities this time. 

The group of them had been down by the bar for their usual night of Wicked Grace, but a small lot of them had somehow inhabited his room after hours to continue on with more risqué rules. He’d had enough ale to know he was going to be sloppy and enough sense to decline the invite. He didn’t need to end up in his smallclothes in front of everyone tonight. Maybe another time. For now, he sat at his desk alternating between watching them and trying to write.

“Alright, alright.” Hawke was already lacking her tunic shirt and her boots and the table was clearly interested in seeing what she was going to choose to remove next. Varric noticed Ander’s eyes do a once over on her chest binding and he chuckled to himself. Blondie wasn’t as subtle as he thought he was. (Though subtly wasn’t exactly needed since Hawke had made direct eye contact with him when she lifted the tunic over her head earlier.)

“What’s it going to be, Hawke?” Fenris asked. Varric admitted, it was nice to see the guy enjoy a good time once in a while. He found his attention was drawn to the table, curious himself to see how this played out.

Hawke had a wicked smile on her face which only enthralled the group more. Isabela rested on her elbows, leaning forward towards the woman across the table from her. One of these days she was just going to end up crawling across the top of it, Varric believed. He just hoped it was on one downstairs instead of his personal one.

Hawke leaned back and slid her hands under the table. Her eyes danced between her three opponents who waited with a high amount of anticipation. From Varric’s angle, he was the only who could see that, despite her wiggling of her hips and act of difficulty, the only thing she was doing, was pulling a piece of clothing out of her pocket. He had to bite his tongue to keep the grin off his face.

With one last show of bending at the waist, as though she was freeing clothing from her lower half, she lifted her hand with pride and dangled a pair men’s underwear. They were slim shorts that would have hung low on her lips had she actually worn them, the waist being too wide. The group was shocked and impressed at her maneuver, missing her deception entirely. Hawke triumphantly tossed the underwear onto the middle of the table as the questions started pouring in.

“How did you do that?” A confused Fenris.

“Whose are they?” Anders trying to hide his jealousy.

“Are they comfortable? They look comfortable.” Isabela already picking them up and inspecting them.

It took Varric a few more moments than it would have sober to realize that the underwear displayed on the table, that had been hidden away in Hawke’s pocket for Maker knows how long, were in fact _his_. The grin he had slowly fell off, melting into confusion. When had she gotten those? He could tell they were clean (thank the Maker) but how did she get them? Hawke looked at him from the corner of her eye and gave him a quick wink. It didn’t matter he supposed. The bafflement of the party was entertaining enough to let them keep his underwear.

Hawke put a stop to the game after that, knowing that if they kept going, she’d be forced to end up removing her bottoms which would reveal that she had not been wearing those underwear and would unravel her entire rouse. She waited until everyone vacated before handing them back to Varric.

“I grabbed them from your drawer when I went to the bathroom,” she explained for him.

“You mean you aren’t a crazy stalker? Well now I’m disappointed,” he teased, putting his underwear on his desk and making a mental note to wash them again. “Put a shirt on before you leave.” He wouldn’t be surprised if she forgot in her state and started wandering the Lowtown streets without it.

“Yes, yes, fine.” It took her a moment to find it and during her search, his eyes glanced over her body. Her time in Kirkwall had peppered her skin with imperfections. Dark spots, bruises, small scars. It suited her appearance. “Are you leering Serah Tethras?” she teased, words slurring just slightly.

“Told you, you should have cleaned it.” He pointed to the small scar on the back of her shoulder. Really, he was surprised that was the only physically mark remaining from their time in the deep roads. Could have been worse.

“And I thought I told you, scars are sexy.” She wiggled her shoulders in an overly exaggerated way and he wasn’t sure if the absurdity of it was on purpose or simply ale fueled. Either way, he chuckled.

“Get your ass home to bed.”

3.  
Blood was everywhere. _Her_ blood was _everywhere_. Varric willed his hands to stay still as Fenris and Anders carried her. It was a wonder how she was still alive, let alone conscious and making smartass remarks. He walked swiftly in front of them, ushering a path and trying desperately not to stare at her blood on his hands.

The Arishok had stabbed her clear through her middle in a last ditch attempted to win their duel. Varric had felt his entire body go weak and numb, watching her hoisted up on his blade. He, like everyone else, thought for sure that was it. That was the end of Hawke, the end of his best friend. Against all odds, she somehow not only survived, but triumphed. He suspected Anders did something, sent some subtle healing spell her way or something, but he didn’t know. He didn’t particularly care right then either.

They laid her on a cot in Ander’s clinic and she made a joke about them jostling her to cop a feel. No one so much as smiled. Blondie’s hands were all over her in an instant, feeling and prodding, making her wince. Everyone was surrounding her bed, but Varric made sure he stood at her head, out of the way, but closer enough to tear off his glove and hold her hand. Her skin was cold.

“So, when you tell this story,” she said to him, holding weakly onto his hand. “You better make it sound epic.” He coughed out a laugh for her benefit and started stroking her hair.

“Chuckles, I won’t even have to exaggerate,” he assured. “This is crazier than the Ogre.” She smiled, coughed, and then winced. Anders was tearing at her robes, trying to open them to see the wound, but wasn’t getting very far.

“Move,” Isabela commanded, quickly unsheathing a blade from her bodice and pushing her way up to Hawke. She sliced open the thick robes right down the middle in a single motion, the tattered edges billowing away from Hawke’s body in the places where the blood hadn’t soaked through. The fabric stuck to the wound and Anders had to carefully peel it away.

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief when it was revealed that she hadn’t been speared _straight_ through the middle. It was slightly off to the right, which probably managed to save her life. Varric held onto her hand tighter and brought her knuckles to his lips.

“She’s going to be okay,” Anders said, mostly to himself as he worked. “She’s going to be okay.”

“Hear that?” Varric asked her. Her eyes were bright as she looked at him and that, more than Ander’s words, gave him a feeling of hope. “You’ll be fine.” She opened her mouth to say something, but hands pressed on her and she cringed.

“I have to…” Anders faltered in his words. “Her breast bind.” A bloody hand pointed to the dirty wrappings. “It’s in the way.” Hawke’s eyes rolled upwards and she groaned. “Alright, everyone out.” His voice dropped into that commanding tone and with quick kisses and touches of affection, everyone started filing out without question.

Varric went to take his leave as well, but when he went to release her hand, she just held on tighter. He and Anders exchanged a single look and they both knew he wasn’t going anywhere. Anders nodded briefly before turning his attention to her breast bind. And Maker, was he slow and ginger about it. Varric knew he’d seen her naked before and now was no time to be shy about it.

“You are _not_ to exaggerate those,” Hawke teased, giving his hand a weak, but playful squeeze. Anders was finally done with her binding and Varric made sure to keep watching her eyes, partly out of decency, but mostly to make sure she was still okay.

“Well now you’re just being stingy.” He really didn’t feel like teasing her, but he’d do anything to keep her smiling right then. “What good is a story without a busty heroine?”

“You have my full permission to make Bethany extra voluptuous.” The smile faded just a little bit. “She died a hero.” She looked away from him and looked up instead, wincing again. He saw the glisten of tears in her eyes. “Carver’s dead too. And Mother.” He patted her hand and ran his thumb over her skin.

“How about I make sure to give Carver the juiciest chest of all of you?” That seemed to pull her back to him, the smile slipping back onto her face.

“This next part is going to hurt. A lot,” Anders warned. “I think it might be time to put you to sleep. You’ll need the rest anyways.” Varric saw a flash of fear in her eyes and he squeezed her hand.

“We’ll be right here when you wake up,” he promised because by the Maker, she _would_ wake up. She took a deep breath before looking down at Anders and nodding. When he came up the table to place a kiss on her lips, Varric looked away to give them privacy. He would have stepped back completely, but her hand still clutched his and he wasn’t about to let go.

Anders pulled back and gave her a flask filled with what Varric assumed was the potion to make her sleep. She grimaced when she drank from it and sputtered through a cough, but she got it down.

She gave Varric one last smile before her eyes fell shut.

4.  
Two main things led to Hawke stripping away all her clothes and climbing into Varric’s bed. The first being she was _very _drunk. The second being that she was sad and lonely, practically bordering on depressed, though she would never admit it. 

Anders had abandoned her again that night, something he was making a habit of doing which in turn was making Varric want to punch him in the mouth. He didn’t know what was going on with that guy, but he was dragging Hawke down into his moping and Varric didn’t like it. So, he never denied her when she showed up at his door alone, that night being no exception.

Either Corff’s drinks were extra strong or she had drunk more than he’d realized because she by the late hours of the evening, Hawke was stumbling through his room and slurring her words. Usually her drunkenness was something of amusement, but tonight she had a sad, empty look in her glassy eyes that made Varric sink.

“Do I need to leave?” she asked as she plopped herself down onto his bed. She didn’t ask out of courtesy, but rather a suppressed desire for validation. She wanted someone, anyone, to tell her she was welcome and wanted. Varric smiled softly at her before crouching down in front of her and unlacing her boots.

“Chuckles, there is no way I’m letting you leave this room tonight.” She returned his smile and helped wiggle her feet free from the confines of her boots. “If we put aside the fact that you’d probably end up passed out in an alleyway if you tried to get home, I would be greatly offended that you thought my company not fit to remain in anymore.” He could tell she wasn’t quite following his words, the sound of his voice probably a little wishy-washy and broken in her drunken head, but that was okay. The point was that she knew she could stay.

He tossed her boots aside and left to straighten up his desk a little. He heard her shuffling about and when he turned around, she was stark naked and crawling under his covers. Varric averted his eyes to the ceiling and held back a laugh, but before unintentionally noticing that the intimate parts of her skin were much paler than he thought.

“What-chya doing there, Hawke?” He heard her say something in response, but her face was already buried into a pillow and her voice was too muffled to understand. “Yes, of course. Makes perfect sense,” he muttered to himself, chancing a look back towards her. She was covered for the most part, sprawled on her stomach with the covers up to around the middle of her back.

Normally, he would have just made up his little cot on the floor like he used to do when she spent the night, before she insisted he could share the bed, but her war hound (if one would even call that slobbering doofus of a dog a _war hound_) had destroyed it with copious amounts of drool. He toyed with the idea of getting into bed next to her. It wouldn’t be _that _absurd, but there was some kind of line he felt he would be crossing, even if he wasn’t sure exactly what it was.

So, instead he settled for his desk chair. He could make do for one night. He paused to look at her before swiping his pillow from his bed. She was already passed out, snoring softly. He smiled lightly at her, finding a comfort in the simple look of peace on her face. He didn’t even care if it had been the ale or his company that put her at such ease. The woman deserved it.

He pulled a spare blanket out and set up his chair to sleep in and found it much easier than he thought it would be to fall asleep to the sound of her snoring.

5.  
Hawke had more scars now. As he stripped her of her clothes, he took notice. He laid her back on his bed and gently pulled at the layers of fabric that covered her and noticed all the scars freckling her body. Some of them he recognized, others were new. 

As he slid her tunic up her belly, he ran his fingers over the red puffy line that marked where the Arishock had skewered her. He dipped down and kissed it before letting his mouth follow his hands up her body. There was a new scar beneath her left breast and he kissed that one too. He placed his lips over every scar he ran across; the one on her shoulder, the new slash on the back of her thigh, the small and nearly insignificant mark on her left hand.

Hawke moaned and ran her hands through his hair as he took his time with her, relearning her body after so long apart. He took a pride in the way he knew her body without ever actually having it before this night. He suspected she knew his own nearly the same when he found himself on his back with a naked Hawke gently running her fingers over the small white mark on his lower back that she instinctively knew was there.

He asked himself once again how he didn’t see this coming. How did he not realize how intimately they had always known each other? It was so clear and yet through all those battles, all the long nights together, the drinks and laughs and conversations, he never realized it.

She made a twisting motion with her hand wrapped around him and his took a deep intake of breath, or tried to anyways. With his lips on her neck, all he did was suck on her skin. It sent them in a short cycle. She would moan and twist causing him to suck harder on her until he gave in and pulled away from her.

She had a sly smile on her face and a purplish bruise bubbling up on her skin. Varric smirked to himself. Even if it was a temporary one, he was going to leave his own mark on her. Add one more onto her body that for once wasn’t brought on by hate or fear or violence.

And by the seductive sparkle in her eyes, he assumed she was going to do the same to him.

**Author's Note:**

> P.S. I still have at least one more story in mind for them. Stay tuned.


End file.
